


I'll Tell You Things I Hardly Mean

by sightofthesun



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alcohol, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, POV Multiple, Post-Canon, comment if you need me to tag something and I will, it's very very slight though, wow I can't believe I finally wrote something again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:02:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11131980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sightofthesun/pseuds/sightofthesun
Summary: Fill for a kyluxsoftkinks prompt:"Everyone on the Finalizer secretly hates being around hux bc he's an insufferable hardass and kylo bc of obvious reasons. They tell themselves they prefer to be avoided and feared but eventually spend more and more time together out of sheer loneliness and boredom. They end up being friends without even realizing it and then of course there's surprisefeelingsinvolved."





	I'll Tell You Things I Hardly Mean

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I had a really fun time writing this and I hope you all have fun reading it as well! It kind of got away from me but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. If anyone needs me to tag anything, just leave me a comment or message me on tumblr (I'll give my URL in the end notes) and I'll get on that right away.

The firing of Starkiller is glorious. Even some hours afterwards Petty Officer Lahn is giddy off of the display of power, the feeling of glowing, red heat lingering on her face.  The rest of the bridge staff seem similarly impacted, the buzz of chatter considerably louder than usual.  

"I wasn't entirely sure it would work, you know?" Lieutenant Tanen mentions, her usual monotone replaced by something with slightly more inflection. "Not that I doubted the General Hux's engineering capabilities, but it was as if it couldn't possibly be real, until it was." 

Lahn can relate. It's exhilarating to know that a weapon of such levity exists, and that she is part of the force that made it happen.  

"I could hardly wait for the speech to end," she confesses to Tanen, then glances around as if the general is somehow listening from over her shoulder. She and Tanen don't often interact, but Lahn is in a good enough mood to feel conversational. "Not that it was bad," she hastens to amend, "but it was a tad...lengthy." 

"You mean long and boring?" Tanen interjects, and Lahn's head snaps up at the comment. There's a smirk on Tanen's usually blank face.  

"Oh, come on. You can't tell me you weren't counting down the seconds until the general stopped talking and actually launched the damn thing." 

Lahn's mouth is now hanging open, and Tanen laughs when she glances over. She's pretty when she's not emotionless, Lahn acknowledges in the back of her mind, but she's too horrified by the blatant insubordination to focus on it.  

"Relax, officer, it's all harmless chatter. You've got to admit that General Hux does love the sound of his own voice." 

It takes Lahn a while to find her words, and when she does, she makes sure they're pitched low enough that none of the nearby staff might hear.  

"You'd think," she says slowly, "that he'd give us at least a few minutes' break to celebrate." 

Tanen's expression shifts from a smirk to a delighted smile, and Lahn blushes but continues before she can get a word in edgewise.  

"But then again, it's fairly obvious that working is celebrating, for him." 

Tanen claps a hand down on Lahn's shoulder.  

"That's my girl." 

She chalks it up to the post-victory high, but Lahn swears Tanen's eyes sparkle. Her nerves sing at the point of contact.  

Then the hand is gone, Tanen's attention focused again on the screen in front of her. Lahn's trying not to feel disappointed when she hears a muttered, "Wouldn't want the general to catch us enjoying ourselves, stars forbid." 

This time it's Lahn's turn to smile.  

* 

After the absolute disaster that is the battle with the scavenger, after the infuriating, debilitating shame that is defeat, Ren lies awake, seething.  

His wounds have mostly healed after a stint in a bacta tank, gaping patches of shredded tissue turned shallow and easily tended.  

The slice across his face burns, and with it does the tangle of hot, simmering rage that sits, ever-present, in the pit of his stomach. He clenches his fists, aching to break something, to heft his saber and destroy every inch of the sterile, silent space that is his private room in medbay. Aching to destroy all of medbay, all of the _Finalizer_ , and the rest of the Galaxy with it.  

He's weak though, drained from his extended session in the tank, so he settles for clenching his jaw hard enough that his ears ring and sending a cart full of surgical tools toppling to the floor.  

The subsequent crash isn't nearly as satisfying as he hoped.  

Ren wakes without realizing he'd fallen asleep. There's a medical droid checking the bandages at his hip, and he glances at it briefly before it registers he's woken.  

The droid skitters slightly backwards and Ren frowns at it before vaguely recalling having destroyed several medical droids a fit of fury while being forcibly escorted into the bacta tank by medical personnel.  He huffs and lays his head back down, staring at the ceiling until the droid approaches again. It hurriedly changes the bandages and takes its leave.  

The day passes slowly, punctuated only by the appearance of more apprehensive droids bringing him food and tending to his wounds. Ren entertains himself with vivid imaginings of what he'll do when he finally gets his hands on the traitor and the scavenger. These fantasies grow increasingly more violent and elaborate, then morph into visions of slaughtering any member of the Resistance. He eventually falls into a fitful sleep, and dreams of lying immobile on a forest floor, slowly being covered in a blanket of white-hot, burning ash.  

There's no sort of time-keeping device in his room; Ren assumes he slept the night through but he can't be sure. The standard rations he's given hardly vary from meal to meal, especially now that he speculates the Order is under tight circumstances. When he inquires the time of the droid applying a salve to his facial scar - as if he cares what he looks like, as if a scar will make his appearance better or worse, as if applying a salve will make it disappear when the wound was left unattended far too long to be able to regenerate now - it makes a frightened beeping noise and slathers the remainder of the salve on in one fell swoop before hastily exiting.  

Ren lets out a growl of frustration, reaching out with the Force to skim the time off of the mind of a nearby patient.  

It appears that in his wounded state he lacks his usual finesse, as his touch onto the mind of a nameless trooper in the public ward is clumsy and uncomfortable. He feels the man's panic at the mental touch and pulls away a moment too late. There's a scream from the trooper the other side of the wall and Ren clenches his jaw again, slamming his fists onto the mattress.  

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. He hasn't been detectable in the minds of others since he was Ben Solo. His first unclenches, fingers finding the bacta pad and bandages on his hip and peeling them back. He probes the nearly-healed flesh, opening the wound anew, and breathes heavily. He closes his eyes and focuses on the pain, the clean feeling of hurt and uses it to ground himself.  

He's been weak, incredibly so. He cannot let it happen again.  

By the time what he assumes is evening rolls around he's admittedly bored, which is sign enough that he doesn't need any more rest. He sits up with a pained groan.  

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” 

He hadn’t sensed the doctor’s presence; he grunts in frustration and turns the full force of his glare onto them. They quail before him. 

“M-my apologies, Lord Ren, it’d just be best if you laid back down, you’re, ah, aggravating your wounds.” 

Ren glances down to see a dark spot slowly leaching through the bandage at his hip and sighs, lowering himself back down in resignation. Only when he’s been laying motionless for several moments does the doctor approach, and they examine the readings on some nearby machines before checking his bandages. 

“Your, um, shoulder and face are healing well,” they mutter, not meeting his eyes, “but your, um, hip – have you…touched it at all?” 

“Are you implying that I would delay my own healing?” Ren demands, just to be contradictory. 

It’s pleasing to watch them wilt, shoulders drawing up. “Of course not, Lord Ren.” 

They work in silence for several minutes, and Ren closes his eyes, casting his consciousness tentatively out into the rest of the ship. As with the last several times, he is met with an overpowering sense of _chaos, desperation, anger, hurt, anger, fearfearfearfear,_ and he pulls away with an inhale and opens his eyes. 

“What’s going on right now?” 

The doctor jumps slightly at the question, and they still, tentatively looking up. 

“Going on where, sir?” they ask after a long moment of silence, and he growls in frustration. 

“Here, the _Finalizer_ , the Order. What’s happening?” 

If they wonder why doesn't simply use the Force to find out for himself, they don't ask. 

“Well,” the doctor says, straightening up and fiddling with their gloves, “officially, the Order is, ah, in retreat.” 

This last bit is barely audible, and they stiffen when Ren clenches his fists at his sides. 

“What of the girl? And the traitor?” 

The doctor stops tugging on their gloves, diverting their attention to a bedside monitor. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.” 

Ren reaches out with the Force, forcibly turning their head to meet his eyes. He’s reluctant to delve into their mind, afraid he may not be able to, and somehow even more afraid of driving off the only company he’s had since returning to consciousness. 

“Do not lie to me,” he intones, and the doctor quakes before him. 

“I-I’m not, I swear, I don’t know,” they stammer, and all it takes is one look at the terror on their face for Ren to know that they’re telling the truth. 

He lets out a huff and releases them. 

“Aside from the, ah, recently inflicted additional distress, you are healing at an optimal rate. Please avoid any further aggravation of your injuries,” they tell him, hurriedly peeling off their gloves and backing out of the room, leaving Ren once again in solitude. 

It’s a few more days before he’s officially released, injuries all but thick scarred areas. The few visitors he’s had have all been droids, the one unlucky doctor seemingly having told their friends about what had transpired during their visit. 

Loathe as he is to admit it, it’s been a long, empty stretch of days. 

Ren’s pulling a regulation-issued long-sleeved shirt on when he hears the tell-tale swish of the door to his room sliding open. 

“Lord Ren.” 

“General,” he says, turning to meet Hux’s familiar cold gaze. “You’re looking…well.” 

Hux’s mouth twitches at the remark; his face is paler than usual, posture stiffer and eyes bloodshot. 

“I see your insolence was not impacted by your injuries,” Hux shoots back. “I am here to inform you that we will be reaching Snoke’s location within a matter of hours. I expect that you will take a shuttle there alone. You will contact us when your training is finished.” 

Hux turns on his heel without waiting for a response; Ren calls out to him on a whim. 

“Hux, wait.” 

Hux pauses, back straight and shoulders set, but does not turn around. 

“What is it? I am a very busy man, Ren, even more so now thanks to your momentous failure.” 

Ren doesn't have an answer, doesn't quite know why he called Hux back in the first place. Hux takes this as his cue to leave, sweeping out of the room. 

“Oh, and do stop terrorizing my staff,” he tosses over his shoulder before the door slides shut behind him. 

Ren uses the Force to slam a nearby monitor against the wall. 

He needs the seclusion, he _embraces_ it, it makes him stronger and with strength he will finally get the revenge he so deserves. 

He has no need for companionship, much less that involving General Hux of all people. 

Despite this, he finds he cannot muster any feeling other than a strange emptiness at the prospect of his imminent departure. 

* 

It's only when it's 1800h and Hux realizes he's on his eleventh cup of caf that he wonders if he really should take a break. 

He can't confidently discern how many cycles it's been since Starkiller, bridge shifts and filing reports and handling PR crises interspersed with jilted three-to-four-hour stints of sleep blending together. His hands have developed somewhat of a perpetual tremble, but so far he's elected to ignore it. 

He sets his datapad down on his desk with a sigh, shoulders aching. He massages his browbone, where a dull pain has resided for hours. Making a snap decision, Hux turns off the datapad and stands, swaying only for a moment. If he's no longer able to be productive, he may as well get drunk enough to forget his many, many troubles. 

He's halfway to the staff lounge before he realizes he's forgotten to comm Phasma, his usual drinking buddy, and is three-quarters of the way there and typing out a message when he realizes she's still on duty. She's been taking on nearly as many shifts as Hux himself, presumedly feeling the need to make up for her role in the recent disaster that was Starkiller's destruction. No matter how many times Hux has emphatically told her that his thoughts on who exactly is responsible - Ren, the Resistance, the traitor, Ren - she's dedicated to bettering herself and her troops ruthlessly. 

Hux respects her ever the more for it. 

The lounge is fairly populated, the last shift having just ended, and Hux procures himself a considerable amount of his favourite Corellian rum before settling into an uncomfortably cushy armchair. He's forced to recline a great deal more than he feels his dignity allows, which is displeasing. 

His officers give him a wide berth, as they should. They should know that a man as busy as Hux has little time for socialization. 

Except it seems that he now _does_ have time for socialization. Having no distractions, Hux downs his rum faster than he expected, and decides to procure the rest of the bottle so that he won't have to have to return to the bar later. It's simply for convenience, and has nothing to do with the fact that all eyes in the room turn to Hux every time he makes the slightest movement. That would be preposterous. His officers respect him on and off duty. 

Not one hour later, a sizeable amount of rum is gone from the bottle and Hux is leaning out of his chair, talking animatedly to a cluster of nearby officers. 

"And I'm not saying I'm over-overworked, or anything," Hux slurs to a lieutenant, who nods politely. She doesn't agree with him, though, or assure him that he is the best and most hardworking officer in the entire First Order, and he scowls. How rude of her. 

"Anyway," he continues, "I like – no. No. I love working. It's my favourite thing. To do. Favourite thing to do." 

The lieutenant nods again, and one of her friends mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "We know." 

Hux stands so fast that he nearly topples over, and has to grab the back of his chair for support. The back of the chair is squishy, and he laughs slightly, before remembering that he's angry. 

"Was that insubordination, Petty Officer Sa – no. Led – fuck. Petty Officer something!" 

The man in question pales and holds up his hands. "No! Not at all, sir. Please, ah, continue." 

Hus takes a moment to gather his thoughts before clearing his throat. "I. Love work, yes. But. It's like, I can't even remember how many cycles ago that fucking Starkiller debacle was? Because I don't even know when day and night is? Because I don't sleep and also we're in space so the, the light doesn't change?" 

He nods several times in agreement with himself, and his audience hesitantly does the same. 

"So. But. Yes. Do you want to know something?" 

He's met with silence, and brings his hand to the blaster on his belt before panic alights in the officers' eyes and they scramble to assure him that they do. 

"Well." Hux pauses to take a swig of his rum, having abandoned his glass in favour of the bottle. He drops it, and the first lieutenant lunges to catch it, placing it on the table. "One thing I do know is just how long Kylo _fucking_ Ren has been gone. It's been thirteen. Days. Without him. You know how I know?" 

He's met with a chorus of dutiful "how?"s. He leans in close, as if telling a secret. 

"First of all, I'm not getting commed every thirty minutes to do damage control after he's destroyed something in one of his infantile rages. Second of all, I don't have to see that pitiful face looking as if I've kicked his pet every time I tell him how much of a pain in the arse he is -" 

"You've seen his face?" 

Hux rolls his eyes, and then his neck, and then he rolls his neck again because he's really been quite tense lately. 

"Obviously I've seen his fucking face. That face is the bane of my existence. I mention just how much of a nuisance he is and that mask tells me nothing, and it's fine, it's all fine and...fine. You know? But when the mask is gone – sad. He. Always looks sad. Sad-like." 

He nods sagely at the group before him and pauses to take another few swallows of rum. He seems to have grabbed his audience's attention. 

"Is he human?" 

"How many eyes does he have?" 

"Is it true that he doesn't need to breathe?" 

Hux ignores this in favour of examining his bottle quite closely. It's getting close to empty, which is annoying. 

"Where was I?" he muses, and the officers look crestfallen. "Ah. Third of all, he's not always looming around the bridge like I've suddenly grown a second shadow. Fourth of all...I think you're supposed to stop after saying 'second of all,' right? Perhaps not." 

He's met with blank stares. 

"Well. Fourth of all, he's not always questioning my decisions, as if I don't know how to do my own job. And. More numbers. Of all. I could go on." 

Hux gulps down the last of the rum and leans heavily on the back of the squishy chair, the room tilting for a moment. He rights himself and stares expectantly at the group of officers, although he's not sure if he asked them a question or not. 

It's difficult to focus on their faces for too long, but they all seem to look rather sympathetic, which he decides he resents. 

"I'm sure he'll be back soon, sir," the lieutenant who caught his bottle tells him gently, and the others nod consolingly. 

Hux really does drop his empty bottle then. He vaguely registers it shattering on the floor. 

"You – he – _soon_?" He sputters. "You think I want – I don’t - soon? I hate – oh, hells." 

He's taken a step forward in his outrage, and the lounge gives one final, grand tilt before he's toppling to the floor. A pair of strong, familiar arms save him from a fall directly onto the shattered remnants of the bottle. 

"Phasma," Hux giggles, staring up into his friend's unimpressed face. "Your shift's over already? You. You work hard. It's good." 

The corner of Phasma's mouth turns up fondly. 

"Let's get you to bed," she says, and hauls Hux up so that he's leaning on her shoulder. She shoots a glare at the cluster of officers, who recoil. "Not a word about this, ever, or it's reconditioning for all of you." 

Hux snickers against her shoulder, then feels a lurch in his stomach and gags slightly. "Can – can we go?" 

They make it to his quarters just in time. Phasma sits with him while he heaves the contents of his stomach into the toilet, and escorts him to bed before taking her leave. 

Hux snorts drunkenly into his pillow at the memory of the lieutenant's words. _I'm sure he'll be back soon, sir._ As if he misses that absolute oaf. 

When he finally drifts off, he certainly does not dream of sad, dark eyes and a looming presence at his shoulder. 

* 

Ren returns to the _Finalizer_ sore, exhausted, and more aimless than he's ever felt before. The weeks of training have strengthened him in both body and Force abilities, but extended periods of time with only himself for company have exacerbated his nerves until he feels he's constantly jangling around the edges. 

He nearly jumps out of his skin when a trooper accidentally brushes by him as he exits the hangar. The trooper jerks back, but Ren barely registers their jolt of projected terror. He's not itching for a fight, wants only to return to his quarters and meditate like he has daily for the duration of his stint at Snoke's citadel. 

The prolonged meditation has not yet brought him to the peace he so seeks. He closes his eyes and sees Han Solo's face in those final moments, opens them to the blue glow of the scavenger's saber – _his rightful saber._ He knows, deep down, that his training should have freed him from such things and cannot help but wonder if Snoke has sent him home after simply giving up on him. 

He's nearly reached his quarters when he encounters a wall that should not be where it is. There's a sign made of flimsi hastily attached to it. 

_Power outage and live wires,_ it reads upon further inspection, _emergency panel in place and access to quarters numbered 4225-4325 prohibited until 2100h. Alarm will sound when panel release triggered._

If Ren weren't already teetering on the edge of an emotional outburst of some sort, he'd laugh from the irony. As it is, it's 19h30 and he's at a loss. He could easily use the Force to trigger the panel into rising, or destroy it in some way or another, but is loathe to trigger the alarm and deal with the expected ruckus it would cause. He's also not very eager to have Hux screaming into his face so soon after arriving. 

He's tired and hungry; he has his meals delivered to his quarters as eating in the mess hall and consequently removing his mask is out of the question. He ends up procuring himself a sandwich from the station in the mess, more populated with higher-ranking officers than it usually is due to the closure of the most restricted wing of quarters. Ren rarely graces the mess hall with his presence, and he doesn't need to use the Force to know that he's being stared at. His sandwich is slapdash, and he leaves hurriedly. 

There's a rising feeling of _something_ in his chest, in his lungs and fingertips, sparked by exhaustion and made worse by the stares. He paces hallway after hallway, finally stopping when the feeling abates, if only slightly. He's in a deserted hallway somewhere near engineering, as good as a place as any to remove his mask and eat the half-forgotten sandwich still clutched in his hand. 

There's a large viewport a ways down the corridor, and he heads toward it. The ship is in a slow orbit around Shan III, the shimmering purple rings of the planet visible when he approaches. 

"I see you've survived 'training.'" 

Ren gives a start, and whirls around to see Hux sitting on the ledge at the far end of the viewport, one eyebrow raised. 

"Would have been nice to know beforehand," he continues, "but I suppose you were far too busy to answer my comms." 

It's insincere, but Ren is too tired to bristle. He sits on the opposite corner of the ledge, as far as possible from Hux, and sets down his sandwich to remove his mask. 

Turning to rest the mask beside him entreats a flash of surprise from Hux. There's no intake of breath or sharp movement but the projected emotion is there all the same. 

Ren pauses before looking up. He's never been overly fond of his face; Ben Solo hated it, but Ren has grown mostly indifferent to the mismatched features and doe eyes. Now, though, his scar has not healed the way it should have. He'd not brought any healing salves with him to Snoke's citadel, welcoming the visible evidence of his failure. 

As a result, the scar is large and pinkish, barely missing his eye as it spans his face. It cannot be ignored, even by Hux. 

Hux doesn't comment, just turns back to the mug of caf he's holding. Ren briefly wonders if Hux takes his meals alone in his quarters, as well. Then he wonders if Hux has eaten at all recently. 

"It's rather beautiful, isn't it?" Hux says after a while, long after Ren has finished his sandwich and Hux his caf. Ren jolts. When Hux is silent and therefore not a constant distraction, his ordered mind is a calming presence, and Ren's halfway entered a meditative state. 

He glances over to see that Hux is staring out the viewport at Shan III. The Finalizer is now close enough that the colour of the planet's rings illuminate Hux's face in their soft glow, giving his pale skin a violet tint. 

Ben Solo once watched a holofilm with some friends from school who weren't really friends. The holo was cliched in all the ways that most romantic holos are and Ren recalls one of the leading characters watching the sunset on Coruscant and uttering words similar to Hux's. "It sure is," the other lead replied, staring so obviously at the first character's face that not a single audience member doubted what he found beautiful. 

Ren studies Hux's face for a moment longer before he fully registers the implications of this sudden resurgence in memory. His stomach gives an uneasy twist and he hurriedly glances out the viewport as well. 

"Um, yeah," he says, and Hux turns to look at him, green eyes piercing in the purple complement. Ren's voice is rough after weeks of little use, and he clears his throat, standing hurriedly. "I have to – meditate. Good evening, General." 

The wing has just been reopened when he arrives, but even in the solitude of his rooms Ren does not reach even the half-meditative state that he did by the viewport. 

* 

The gym is mostly empty, and ST-2777's voice echoes as she calls over to her friend. 

"Help me out with these sparring mats, would you, Clip?" 

"Too weak or too lazy, Sevens?" CL-1980 teases, and he makes a show of grabbing several mats. Sevens rolls her eyes; she's the older and broader of the two of them, but Clip rarely misses a chance to show off. 

By the time they gather up most of the mats and drag them into the storage room, they're the only two people left. The gym is booked at the same time every night, and most troopers know better than to linger. 

Sevens watches in amusement as Clip attempts to heft a mat onto a shelf that’s just slightly out of his reach, before huffing out a laugh and taking pity on him. 

“I could have done that myself, you know,” he insists, and Sevens smirks at him, sliding four mats onto the shelf at once. 

“I’m sure you could,” she tells him, and Clip rolls his eyes, pulling on the door exiting the storage room with a little more force than necessary. 

He grunts, jarring his arm when the door doesn't budge. 

“Too short to put away a sparring bag, now too weak to open a door?” Sevens quips, keeping her tone just this side of friendly. 

Clip growls in response. “It’s stuck, smartass.” 

He steps aside and Sevens grabs hold of the door handle, giving it a sharp pull. It does not move. 

“You don’t happen to have your comm on you, would you?” Sevens asks tentatively, giving the door another wrench. 

“We’re in the gym, do you really expect me to have my comm with me?” Clip retorts, and then coughs in the stale air of the equipment room. Sevens sighs. 

“All right, I was just checking.” 

She bends down to inspect the slight gap between the door and doorjamb. There’s no irregularity or flaw in sight that could be causing the door to stick, and she’s about to straighten up when she catches movement through the gap. 

“I think someone’s there!” 

Clip’s at her side in an instant, squinting through the crack to see a tall, dark-haired man enter the gym. Whoever he is, he doesn't appear to be prepared for a workout, head down and movements slow. 

“That's who reserved the gym for three whole hours?” Clip hisses. "He looks like he just got broken up with or something." 

“Who cares? Maybe he can let us out.” 

Sevens opens her mouth to call out to him when the man, eyes still trained on the ground, extends a hand towards the far wall. One of the fighting staffs comes whizzing off the rack and hits the his palm with a muffled _thunk_. 

For a moment, Sevens forgets how to breathe. 

“Is that…” Clip murmurs after a long silence. He trails off, but Sevens knows they’re both thinking the same thing. There is, after all, only one person aboard the _Finalizer_ able to summon things using the Force. 

They both watch wide-eyed as Kylo Ren touches the end of the staff to the floor. He stares at it without moving for so long that part of Sevens is almost concerned.   
The other part of her is hard at work committing every detail of his appearance to memory. Her friends are never going to believe this. 

If only he would just look up, she’d be able to get a glimpse of his face. Kylo Ren, however, does not seem intent on complying, continuing to gaze dejectedly at the floor. 

He finally lets out a strangled cry and launches into a series of movements so sloppy and explosive that Sevens is inclined to assume that he’s simply letting off steam, because if this is the way he usually practices then he must not actually hit many things with his lightsaber. 

He's in the middle of a particularly elaborate, angry-looking manoeuvre when Sevens catches the sound of the gym doors sliding open. The doors themselves are out of her narrow line of sight, and Sevens and Clip both strain to hear who it is. 

"Ren, I have had it up to _here_ these last few weeks, and I could certainly do without having to deal with your Force-damned tantrums while I'm trying to run a regime!" 

Next to Sevens Clip lets out the tiniest of squeaks at the unmistakable voice. Sure enough, moments later General Hux himself is striding into view, face irate. 

"I thought you'd be past this," he continues, and Kylo Ren slows, directing his gaze dully at the general's boots. "Thought maybe your training with Snoke would have finally taught you something useful, such as self control. I suppose that was nothing but wishful thinking, hmm?" 

Ren's face remains obscured by his hair, more so now that he's facing the general, head remaining downturned. 

General Hux waits for a moment, fists clenched at his sides in a deviance from his usual parade rest. It's strange, Sevens reflects absently, to see him display such emotion. She supposes she knew he's human, but it's easy to forget at times. 

After a beat of silence, Hux genuinely throws up his hands. "You destroy an entire bank of consoles that I just had reinstalled and you honestly have nothing to say for yourself, Ren?" 

There's another moment of silence, this one longer and tenser than the previous one, and Sevens gets the distinct feeling of something unpleasant growing heavy in the air. 

Then, suddenly, Ren bursts into tears. Sevens and Clip watch in awe as the large man drops the staff and collapses in on himself, heaving out great, choking sobs. 

General Hux looks as shocked as Sevens feels. He watches, eyes wide and wary, as Ren grabs great handfuls of his own hair and yanks in a way that looks painful. Hux gingerly reaches out a hand as if to stop him but leaves it hanging in the air between them. 

What happens next is even stranger. 

Kylo Ren launches himself at the general, wrapping his arms around Hux's torso and burying his face against his chest, sobs muffled in the greatcoat. From beside her Sevens hears Clip stifle a gasp. 

Ren continues to sob, shoulders shaking, but Hux looks as if he's been frozen in carbonite. His eyes are impossibly wide, and his hand still hovers where it had been extended towards Ren moments ago. 

"What. Is going on," he says tersely, and it's a while before Ren's breathing slows enough for him to answer. When he does, he doesn't move, his voice still muffled in the front of the General's coat. 

"I c-can't...I did it. I killed him. I killed him and I thought it would make things better but they're so mu-much worse and S-Snoke's mad at me he _hates_ me and I can't stop feeling the Light I feel it more than ever and I don't want to feel anything anymore." 

This comes out all in a stuttered rush, and at the end Ren pulls away from Hux, grabbing great handfuls of his hair and pulling hard. 

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he mutters, seemingly more to himself than to Hux, and if the entire situation weren't so baffling Sevens would be taken aback to witness Kylo Ren apologizing to anyone. "Sorry, I'm so stupid, this is so – I won't do it again, I won't fuck up again, your precious _regime_ is safe." 

This last bit is venomous, but it's half-hearted at best. Ren finally lets go of his hair and wraps his arms around himself, shoulders drawn up tightly. 

"Ren." Hux's voice is so soft that Sevens almost doesn't hear it, and Ren lets out a long breath before slowly turning back around. 

The edge has disappeared from the General's expression, replaced by a delicate openness to his face that Sevens has never seen before. 

"I won't pretend to know what – what you're going through. Or even what you're talking about, really. But you..." Hux pauses to straighten his cuffs, cheeks pinking. "You don't have to do it alone," he says to the floor. 

He then extends his hand once more. Ren slowly drops his arms from across his chest and stares at the hand before bypassing it altogether and violently embracing Hux again, sobbing anew. Hux, to his credit, seems to have been expecting this and manages to look more exasperated then disgusted this time around. He pats Ren's back stiffly. 

This continues until Hux looks as if he's had about just as much as he can take, and he carefully detaches himself from Ren. He murmurs something inaudible and Ren nods, scrubbing a hand across his face. The two of them turn to leave together. 

As they pass the supply closet, Ren turns to look directly at the door to the storage room. His face is red from crying, but his dark eyes are fierce, and a long, jagged scar turns his somewhat awkward features menacing. 

Clip and Sevens gasp in tandem, stumbling back as a voice speaks directly into their heads. _If you so much as think about what you've just witnessed ever again, I will kill you._

Sevens plasters herself against the far wall, heart hammering. 

Several minutes after the two men have left, and Sevens' heart rate has returned to normal, the door swings open, as if it had never been stuck in the first place.   
There's really only one way the door could have been opened so easily from afar, but neither Sevens nor Clip voice their suspicions. They exit the gym in stunned silence. 

* 

"I hope you know they're not coming." 

Hux's face is mostly numb with cold, but he purses his lips the best he can before answering, voice raised to be heard over the wind's howl. 

"Our transmission was sent twenty-six minutes ago. Protocol dictates that a follow-up transmission be sent after thirty minutes of radio silence. I trust you can conclude that we shall send our next transmission in four minutes." 

"It won't do anything," Ren insists, "the ice storm's probably interfering with the signal. We'd do better to find shelter and wait this out." 

Ren is less than a meter away but it's a struggle to make him out through the whirling snow. Hux pulls the collar of his coat higher in lieu of responding. Their sojourn to the Outer Rim ice planet was supposed to be brief, a simple scout for any life forms that could have been cloaked by their remote scans. The planet is a veritable treasure trove of kalenite, so much that Hux deemed it suspicious that the planet should be uninhabited. As a result, here he stands in the midst of a grade V ice storm, he and Ren the sole life forms on the planet. 

"The signal is fine," Hux snaps eventually, carefully biting out each syllable so as not to give away how much his teeth are chattering. 

Ren shrugs. Hux glances over to see that frost has formed on the outside of his mask, and for the first time in his life wishes he had one of his own, along with Ren's cape, cowl, and robes. He hadn't anticipated the storm, had been too eager to verify the planet's vacancy and get on with the mining. Impulsive, in retrospect. He shivers; his greatcoat and gloves are his only barriers to the cold as he'd lost his hat nearly as soon as the storm began. 

He knows Ren's not happy to have been dragged along on this excursion, but Hux had insisted on having the Force as an aid in detecting life. (This is the sole justification for his choosing to bring Ren along, and he refuses to consider any other reasons.)

Some time passes, but it can't be much. Ren's saying something again, but Hux isn't quite sure what it is. He's feeling warmer now, or at least less cold, and he's stopped shivering. He feels like this should concern him, but his mind feels sluggish, distant. 

"...okay?" Ren draws closer, frosty mask directly in front of Hux's face, and Hux blinks slowly at him. 

"I...what?" 

"Are you. Okay?" Ren moves even closer, and Hux takes a step back, or at least tries to. His legs don't seem to receive the proper commands, and he teeters for a moment before Ren wraps his arms around him. Hux is hit by the feeling that he's been grabbed by Ren like this before, under different circumstances, but he can't remember when. 

A gloved hand gently grabs his face, tipping his chin up. He's not sure what Ren's looking for. He probably should know, but he finds he's rather tired and decides to close his eyes for a moment. 

The hand on his face grips his jaw tightly and gives his head a shake. "No sleeping. We're moving." 

Something heavy is draped over Hux's head and shoulders, and he leans heavily on Ren. Moving is difficult: Hux really doesn't want to leave, and walking requires a presence of mind that he cannot reach at the moment. Really, if Ren would just let him sleep, he'll be ready to walk afterward. 

When Hux's legs give out for a third time Ren lets out a noise of frustration and scoops him up. Hux leans his head on Ren's broad chest and closes his eyes again. 

"No." There's the distinct sensation of being pinched hard on the upper arm where he still has feeling and Hux flinches. "No sleeping." 

Hux frowns, but doesn't have the energy to complain, so he blinks his eyes open and stares up at Ren's masked face. He starts to nod off a few more times, each time being pinched by phantom fingers. His eyes rest half-lidded and he thinks his mouth may be slightly open. 

Hux is pinched out of a half-conscious state just as they reach a rock face. Ren paces the length of it for a while and Hux is on the cusp of drifting off again when Ren stops and bends down slightly, ducking into a cave of some sort. It's dark, but there's no wind, and Ren lowers Hux to the ground before wrenching off his mask. 

"Hux. Can you answer me?" 

Hux gazes distantly at Ren's face, ghostly in the dim light, and tries his best to move his mouth. He slurs out some sound or another, and Ren's eyebrows draw together before he stands up, stripping out of his cloak and undoing the front of his robe. His cowl is missing. 

Ren then crouches down, yanking off Hux's greatcoat and unbuttoning his jacket underneath. Hux groans in protest, but Ren lies down parallel to Hux and pulls him tight against the heat of his bare chest, throwing Hux's greatcoat and his cloak over the both of them. 

"Hux," he says, breath warm against Hux's face, "you can't fall asleep, okay? It's fine if you can't talk, but don't – you can't sleep, alright?" 

Hux concentrates for a moment and manages to make his voice work this time around. "'kay." 

Ren talks to him steadily, though Hux doesn't register much of it until he's warmed up considerably. The skin-to-skin contact is unfamiliar but certainly helpful, and what he now realizes is Ren's cowl that's draped over his head and shoulders is a boon. He's feeling markedly more coherent when he presses his frigid hands to Ren's warm chest. Ren, as expected, flinches back, letting out a gasp. 

"This is what I get for saving your life?" he grumbles, though his voice lacks hostility. Hux smirks but doesn't move his hands. 

"I assume it's against the Knights' code of celibacy to be divested from the waist down?" Hux inquires, glancing at Ren's bare torso. His voice is weaker than he'd like it to be, but Ren flushes all the same. 

"We're not – required to be celibate," he mutters, not meeting Hux's eyes, and Hux raises an eyebrow. 

"Are you, then? Celibate?" 

Ren flushes even darker, and Hux imagines he can feel the heat of it in their proximity. 

"Can we not talk about this right now? You almost died back there, because, what, you're stubborn?" 

"Why Ren," Hux says, "I didn't know you cared so much." 

Ren abruptly meets Hux's eyes, expression unreadable. "Of course I care." 

Hux's breath leaves him all at once. The cave is suddenly very silent, the only sound their mingled breaths and the distant howl of the wind. Slowly, Hux lifts his hands from Ren's chest and brings them up to cup his face. Ren says nothing, but his eyes widen imperceptibly, breath speeding up. 

Hux runs a thumb over Ren's cheekbone, gently traces the scar across his face. Ren squeezes his eyes shut, looks away. 

"Don't," he begs, and it's a broken sound, ragged in the cool air of the cave. 

"Don't what?" Hux asks, keeping his voice soft, pressing a thumbnail to Ren's plush lower lip. Ren's breath catches. 

"Don't pretend that – that you want this." Ren blinks several times, eyes dark and pleading when they turn back up to Hux. "Want this like...like I do." 

Something jumps in Hux's chest, sending tingles throughout his body. His fingers twitch where they rest on Ren's face. He hardly dares to breathe. 

When he next speaks, his words are chosen very carefully. 

"That's a hasty assumption to make." 

Ren's forehead creases, and his bottom lip twitches. "Hux. You don't..." 

Hux lets a tiny smile grace his face. "I think you'll find that I do." 

His hands still cup Ren's face, and he uses them to draw him even closer, until their foreheads touch. The first brush of lips is soft, warm but barely-there, and Hux can feel the race of Ren's heart against his own chest. When he pulls back, Ren is grinning. Hux has never seen him smile before. 

"Hux, I - " Ren starts, then stops and looks conflicted. "I really – um. Are we friends?" 

Hux stares at him for a moment before letting out an involuntary snort of laughter. Ren looks hurt until he catches sight of the sickeningly affectionate expression Hux knows he's displaying. 

"I think we're a bit past that point," Hux tells him, and Ren ducks his head, smiling again. He has dimples. 

This time it's Hux tipping Ren's chin up with a thumb and forefinger. When their lips meet, it's not nearly as hesitant as before. 

The storm outside ceases eventually. Neither of them can be bothered to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is ssunglassesemoji (sorry that's not a link, I have no clue how to embed links lmao). Feel free to shoot me a message whenever! Also, if anyone is interested in being a beta in the event that I ever write again, please let me know!
> 
> Thanks for reading. <3


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